


Biweekly Log 14

by stephanericher



Series: Drabbles [17]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Tokyo Ghoul, 残響のテロル | Zankyou no Terror | Terror in Resonance
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:25:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Works published 12/7/14 and 12/20/14</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biweekly Log 14

1\. Surf (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya)

The morning is quiet and hazy as these mornings so often are, but Taiga hasn’t tired of them yet. the beach is almost deserted when he rolls in and he takes his time paddling out until he really starts to feel the waves and get used to the temperature of the water and the wetness on his skin; he waits a while and watches the breaks and the other riders. He clamors to his feet and the wind on its own is exhilarating—and then the waves start coming and he moves with them, one after the other. he’s long since lost track of time when he finally lets the water carry him to shore, and he stands a while in the sand letting the faint rays of sun peeking out from gaps in the cloud warm him in the still air. When he gets home there’s warm coffee in the pot and enough food to make breakfast in the fridge, and by the time he’s done cooking Tatsuya’s standing in the doorway watching with a dreamy sort of smile on his face. They eat and play footsie under the table until long after their plates are clean and the coffee’s gone cold and they really should be doing other things. but he’d rather draw out these things, infinitely precious as they are—a good surf and a cozy house and a familiar touch and Tatsuya’s easy smile—because they’ll never be not worth it.

* * *

2\. Whiskey (Five, Clarence)

She’s never had whiskey before but she says she’s game, eyes glinting like they always do, leaning forward in her chair and resting that sharp chin in that sculpted palm of hers. So Clarence pours her a shot of his second-best; she deserves no less but probably wouldn’t appreciate better yet. She knows this, raises an eyebrow at the bottle but does not demand a change.

She swallows it down, lips tightening briefly, but does not sputter and her eyes do not water; her grip on the cold glass slips slightly, leaving finger-shaped trails on the condensation, but she holds it out for him to pour more.

She drinks more than him but she hasn’t puked or passed out by the time he’s too tired to keep up this shit any longer, excuses herself and heads off—perhaps back to her own hotel room. He loosely caps the bottle and leans back in his chair; somehow she wins every time.

* * *

3\. Dream (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya)

When the sun gets too hot and the beach gets too crowded he makes his way back toward shore, feet heavy as they try to make sense of landing on the semi-solid ground from midair. He flops down on the blanket next to Tatsuya, rolling over until he’s half on top of him and closing his eyes.

“You’re all wet,” Tatsuya says, pushing him off—his smile is deep, radiating more brightly than the sun in Taiga’s eyes right now.

“You’re at the beach; you’re not supposed to stay dry,” Taiga retorts, draping an arm around Tatsuya’s waist, gently tugging at him.

Tatsuya sighs, still smiling at him like that, and turns onto his side so they’re chest to chest. “That better?”

“Much,” says Taiga, pressing his lips against Tatsuya’s ear.

The sunlight shimmers off the sand and Taiga closes his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep,” says Tatsuya, poking at his side.

“I won’t,” says Taiga, but the sound of the waves and the birds and the wind and the people and the smell of salt and barbecue and Tatsuya’s shampoo are lulling him into a dream already.

* * *

4\. Doors (Yomo Renji/Uta)

Uta’s like a room full of doors, a labyrinth, a knotted thread that Renji can’t tame or knit into anything—he’s always lost, always searching for something, anything, the essence of Uta, what makes him tick—and no matter how hard he looks he can’t quite find it, grasping at straws and sure he’s found a lead but then he looks into Uta’s eyes and he’s laughing.

Perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t waste his time trying, though—they only have so much of it. Perhaps this is what Uta means when he tells Renji to stop thinking so much and just enjoy himself—perhaps that is an indication; he’s turned it over in his mind as they sleep, Uta’s warm body next to him, that maybe Uta knows something, knows of a certain end to this—but he could be overthinking it again. Even if he’s not, the more time Renji spends inside his on head the less he spends with Uta.

* * *

5\. Ridiculous (Momoi Satsuki/Wakamatsu Kousuke)

Wakamatsu looks paralyzed the first time she kisses him, like he’s just been stung by a jellyfish or something, and it’s so adorable that Momoi pulls him down by his collar and kisses him again—this time he manages to kiss her back by the end, at least. Honestly, she couldn’t wait around forever and he was fumbling like he was going to do it and she’s more than glad she went for it. It’s not just because he tasted sweet or because his hands properly found her hips or because it’s better than she imagined it would be but because of the ridiculous grin on his face afterwards and the way he says her name and the way he holds her close and finally kisses her.

* * *

6\. Worthless (Yomo Renji/Kaneki Ken)

Ken isn’t worthless; he needs to know this much—Renji tightens his grip around Ken’s shoulders, presses his lips to the back of Ken’s neck, buries his nose in silky black hair, tries to will the trembling in Ken’s body away.

“Renji-san.”

It’s barely breathed, and he’s still shaking like railroad tracks five miles before the train gets there. Renji holds him tighter—there’s nothing he can say.

“Thank you.”

They both exhale; Ken lets out a nervous half-laugh at Renji’s breath on his neck and it’s going to be okay.

* * *

7\. Wind Up (Aomine Daiki/Haizaki Shougo)

They always wind each other up, push each other’s buttons and end up arguing and storming off or grappling on the couch and it’s not a play fight or a manipulation, just their pent-up frustrations; in some ways they’re the worst for each other, the same kids who threw punches at each other and actively talked shit that in one way or another they meant with absolute seriousness. But there’s something that keeps them holding on, something besides their stubbornness—Aomine would hesitate to call it love exactly, but maybe that’s what it is. Love or masochism, at any rate, because they keep coming back, keep throwing half-hearted apologies at each other but then accepting them anyway and curling up together to watch TV or going into the kitchen and making dinner together or playing basketball or having sex until the next time they set each other off. But then again, it’s not like they’re dissatisfied.

* * *

8\. Sparkle (Five/Clarence)

Her eyes sparkle; her earrings sparkle; her teeth sparkle; she practically shines in the light like some kind of moon brought to earth when she walks her skin is so pale and she knows exactly what he’s thinking as he masks it behind debriefing her on the situation—he’s been in much more uncomfortable situations before and kept a straight face, after all.

She stops, spins; it’s like she’s a disco ball and he almost flinches away from the brightness. He does not look away from her gaze.

“Did you need something?”

She shakes her head; that magnificent hair swishes around her ears and she smiles. “Continue.”

Shit.

* * *

9\. Worth the Wait (Takao Kazunari)

There were times he’d wondered if it was worth it to keep going with basketball, worth it to keep trying even though he didn’t seem to be improving at a measurable rate and when his team lost every game despite everyone putting forth his best efforts. His best wasn’t good enough; wouldn’t it be better to just give up and declare it a sunk cost? But he couldn’t, somehow entrenched himself deeper and deeper in the game.

And it’s worth it, now, the practice and the aching and the soreness and the misery; he’s paid it in and reaps the benefits—even when they don’t win there’s the whoosh of the ball through thee air, the familiar friction against his fingers and the way his hands roll against the rough orange surface, the satisfaction that settles inside of him when his passes and shots met their targets and the urgency when they don’t, the rush of adrenaline when he steals the ball and they break out, even if they don’t score—in the moment, it’s perfect and worth the wait.

* * *

10\. Express (Liu Wei/Himuro Tatsuya)

Tatsuya stares out the window after the bell rings, thinking about dinner or basketball or home or something else, and Wei brings him out of it by tugging at his collar or pinching his cheek or sitting on his desk and blocking his view and telling him that they have to get to practice and there’s no time for this shit but even s he says this his face is starting to flush and his hand is creeping towards Tatsuya’s, and he’s holding it by the time Tatsuya stands up and he thinks he’s sly but he really isn’t but it’s okay. He’s always sucked at subtlety, at picking sarcasm from seriousness and the meaning of any kind of silence and communicating his own thoughts outside of straightforwardness. It’s more than okay that he’s kind of giddy about this because Tatsuya does, too; he’s just a liar—and even Wei can figure out the truth in his gestures and expressions sometimes.

* * *

11\. Flowers (Himuro Tatsuya/Kagami Taiga)

Taiga brings his work home with him, calla lilies and chrysanthemums and hydrangeas and cacti and weeds caught in the act of choking out the more fragile plants but saved separately anyway, filling the windowsills with reddish-brown terra cotta pots and cracking green plastic boxes and spending bits of their precious water allotment on keeping them healthy. Tatsuya can’t really bring himself to disapprove, though, not when he gets to see the way Taiga’s face lights up at the scene and the way he so carefully and tenderly looks after reach plant, how he repositions them when they start leaning too hard toward the sun and measures out the right amount of water and fertilizer.

There was a time when he would have been jealous but that time isn’t now, not when Taiga plucks blooms from their stems and present them to Tatsuya or tucks one behind his ear, not when Taiga asks him to help and stands behind him and steadies his elbow while he holds the watering can, saved by spilling from the miracle of surface tension. (Sometimes he ends up flooding the plant with too much water, but that’s only because Taiga forgets to stop him.)

* * *

12\. Intuit (Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou)

Tatsuya seems to have some sort of sixth sense, of showing up whenever he’s really in deep shit—when he’s taking on a fight he really can’t handle, when he’s about to actually tear up his schoolbooks in frustration, when he’s feeling low about his father. For someone who claims to be as self-centered as he does (and act as self-centered as he sometimes does) Tatsuya’s remarkably on-point about being there when it really matters, holding onto Shuuzou and preventing him from sinking all the way to the bottom somehow (even if he’s much deeper into the well himself).

He always knows what Shuuzou needs, whether it’s talking or listening or distracting or nothing at all, just sitting there and getting lost in through together, pinkies linked or shoulders touching, the room silent except for their steady breathing until the world seems a little less daunting and a little more like things are going to be okay.


End file.
